


Sangria

by FamousWolf



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FamousWolf/pseuds/FamousWolf
Summary: Rhett knows how he wants to pass the time while Link's sangria chills.





	Sangria

**Author's Note:**

> This piece has a mini-soundtrack, three songs that resonated during the week of writing it: Hey, Rosetta!'s "Yer Fall", The Civil Wars' "Tip of My Tongue", and Andrew Bird's "Left Handed Kisses (Feat. Fiona Apple)."

"Car's running.  Sooner we get there, sooner we can leave.  Quote, unquote," Rhett announced as he closed Link's front door behind him.  "But I'm fine with fashionably late."  

He'd expected Link to be waiting for him in the living room, but upon entry, Rhett found it empty, the house eerily quiet.  He listened for movement, figuring Link was putting finishing touches on his clothes or hair, but his brow furrowed at the sound of a soft, repetitive knock coming from the kitchen.  

"Link?" he called, slowly moving toward the sound.  As he turned the corner, he froze, a surprised grin overtaking his face.  

Link stood at his island, dressed for the party in a black button-up and dark jeans, but his sleeves were rolled up as he focused on his task at hand: slicing several different fruits and dropping them into a pitcher.

"Look at this," Rhett said to no one.  "Mr. Punctual got a late start."

"I was misled."

Rhett cocked his head, waiting for the explanation.

"I was told that the fruit was in the fridge, ready to go.  I thought all I had to do was throw everything together."

"The person who told you this...did she specifically say that you could just 'throw it together'?"

Link scooped up a palm-full of apple chunks and dropped them into the pitcher, the thud punctuating his response: "She did not."

"And does it stand to reason that if she'd gone ahead and cut everything up, that she'd also be just as likely to measure out the rest and put it together for you?"

"It does," Link answered, reaching for a pear and beginning the slicing process anew.  He hadn't looked up at Rhett once.

"I mean, this looks like it's probably the hard part—"

"IT STANDS TO REASON," Link repeated more forcefully, shutting down the ridicule.  Rhett laughed and pulled out a barstool from beneath the counter, dropping into it coolly and crossing his arms to watch Link work.  He was quiet for the time it took to slice the pear, but they both knew it couldn't last.

"You need help?" he asked halfheartedly, reaching for the bottle of bourbon at the corner of the counter and reading its label.  "Oh, this is good.  I had some of this at a party last Christmas."

"Good," Link shot back, clearly ignoring both Rhett's commentary and the fact that he was sampling the bourbon straight from the bottle.  

"How much of this?" Rhett asked after an aromatic exhale.  

"Half cup."

Rhett took another, deeper swig before pouring a few counts straight into the pitcher.  

"Hey!  HEY!" Link balked, mouth agape when Rhett pulled the bottle back and capped it.  

"It's called eyeballing, man.  It's fine.  Here," he said, quickly opening the bottle again and offering it across the countertop.  Link paused, blinking twice before taking it and savoring a drink of his own.

"There you go," Rhett cooed, a laugh clearly at the edge of his voice.  "Chill out, man.  It's a party, not a court date.  Whose idea was _this_?"

"It was hers, Audrey's.  She called us out for always bringing beer since Calvin opened his microbrewery. Apparently it's rude."

"Oh, you mistakenly thought that not everyone likes drinking straight hops."

"I know.  I'm so embarrassed," Link huffed, rolling his eyes.  "She got all up in arms and told, no, _dared_ us to _make_ something this time.  What'd you make?"

Rhett narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.  Link's shoulders dropped.

"You son of a bitch."

Rhett scrunched his nose in a heartless apology.  "You and I respond differently to that kind of pressure."

"Cool.  Great.  Well, we're definitely not going to be early," Link said, reaching for the plum at the farthest edge of the island.  "You can turn your car off."

Without looking up from a bottle of wine that had found its way into his curious hands, Rhett replied, "I didn't actually leave it running.  It's a figure of speech."  

"It's not, but okay," Link retorted, having none of Rhett's know-it-all tone.  "This is supposed to chill for three hours, or it's going to taste like poison."

Rhett's laugh filled the kitchen, bouncing off its high walls.  "Oh, man!  I almost wonder if you shouldn't have started this sooner..."  The sincerity in his voice sold the joke, and Link broke into a laughing fit of his own, tossing sloppy plum chunks into the glassware and needlessly wiping his brow with the back of his hand.  In his focus, he did not notice Rhett staring at him, watching his hands go about their work.

"I can give it one.  Then we can go.  It doesn't officially start for another half hour anyway.  Then you can be fashionably late, and the bonfire will already be going when we get there," Link explained, masterfully justifying his tardiness.  

"Okay.  You don't have to convince me.  I'm free all night," Rhett said before standing and making his way to the living room.  As he knelt before Link's sound system, he pulled his phone from his pocket and plugged it in.  With a few presses and swipes of his fingers, the warm sound of a rhythmic piano swept through the house, following Rhett back into the kitchen and breezing over Link, trying to ease the tension from his face.  A man's voice began softly singing over the piano while Rhett found the corkscrew in a narrow drawer and went to work on the wine, leaning gently against Link's side as he did so.

"How'd you find that?  We've been looking for that," Link said, nodding to the tool made small by Rhett's hands.

"It was in your junk drawer.  I put it there last time."

Link bit back a grin, so Rhett did the same.  

After a loaded beat, Link answered, "That whole bottle, then into the fridge.  Done and done."

Rhett nodded, setting the cork on the counter before taking a test swig from the bottle, as he'd done with the bourbon.  It slipped like velvet over his tongue and he sighed, wordlessly handing it to Link, who took his own sip with wet hands.  They nodded their approval to one another, then Rhett emptied the rest into the pitcher, watching the fruit dance in the burgundy flood.  

As Rhett placed the drink in its designated clearing in the refrigerator, Link rolled his head side to side, stretching his neck as he dried his hands.  "Why are we even going to this thing?  What is even being celebrated here?"

"You didn't used to need a reason for a party.  You just don't like working for it."

Link did not refute the claim.

"But all that work makes sharing it more rewarding, right?  And what's better than sharing something that will make everyone feel all warm and fuzzy?"

"Alright, alright," Link said, cutting off the response before it could grow into one of Rhett's monologues.

"But regardless, I know you like fires," Rhett reminded him, stepping close enough to him to touch.  Link looked up at him and rolled his eyes in concession.  "And you like music.  That's why I'm playing some for you.  And you're being rude by ignoring it."

"You're missing the core concept of background music."

"It's not background music.  It's accompaniment."

Link arched a brow.  "And what is it supposed to accompany?"

Rhett took a single step forward, forcing Link to turn his chin upward to look at him.  He chewed the inside of his lip before answering.  "Whatever you want to do for an hour, I guess.  Let me ask you this..."  Link had plenty of time to narrow his eyes before Rhett formed his question.  "You think you're gonna hit your punch pretty hard?"

"It's sangria."

Rhett's mouth formed an O in illumination.  "Forgive me.  You think you're gonna hit it pretty hard?"

"Is that a problem?" Link asked, cheeks growing visibly warm under the interrogation.  

"Of course not.  I'm just making a prediction," Rhett explained, casually lifting his arms to rest them on Link's shoulders, pinning him where he stood and framing his upturned face.  "Does it stand to reason that you're likely to get pretty loose, since that's what bonfires do to you?  And does it stand to reason that you might not feel like walking me to my door at the end of the night because it's possible that you'll be sleeping in the cab?"

Link shifted under the weight of his arms, but did not pull away.  He shook his head and smiled, following Rhett down this predictable path.  "It stands to reason."

"So if I was hoping to spend some quality time with you, maybe now would be a good time?"

"I'm already in my clothes."  

"You're right.  We should keep them clean.  Let's take them off," Rhett suggested as if the thought had just crossed his mind for the first time, eyes wide with his own brilliance.  Link rolled his own and held his arms out to the sides in offering.  

Rhett chuckled to himself, thrilled to have sold his suggestion, and set to work on the black buttons, slipping them open with one hand as the other cupped Link's jaw, eventually pulling him into a tentative kiss.  As their lips met, his hands stopped, freezing to enjoy the warmth of Link's mouth as it pressed more boldly into his own until the dust of disuse had cleared away and they'd fallen into familiar positions, Link's lips taking the lower placement, Rhett's the higher.  When Link guided their lips apart and slid his tongue across Rhett's lip, Rhett's hands sparked back to life, sliding across his chest before finding the buttons again, quickly separating the two halves of the shirt.  He pulled back to look at his work and sighed, shaking his head with a sympathetic frown.  

"What?" Link asked, his own fingers dancing along the hem of Rhett's t-shirt.  

"I'm so sorry.  I lied.  You're going to have to keep this on.  This..." He growled his approval rather than speaking it, and his hands sliding eagerly over Link's ribs, he reveled in the contrast of light skin framed by dark fabric.  

"For a second," Link allowed, the warning in his voice subdued by a fresh wave of heavy kisses.  

Rhett breathed him in, tasting the fruit he'd sampled accentuating the bourbon he'd drunk.  The flavor seemed to remind Rhett's muscles that he'd done the same, and he felt himself relax into Link's hands as they wound around his back.  His lips pulled into a lazy smile, and he sighed as he walked Link backward until he connected with the far counter.  Link took the cue quickly and pushed himself up to sit at its edge, separating his knees to let Rhett stand between them.  Rhett dropped his nose into the crook of Link's neck and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with a strange blend of the fruit on his breath and aftershave on his skin.  It was clean and enticing, and Rhett couldn't help but press his parted lips to the side of Link's throat, his tongue searching for a pulse point as strong arms tightened around his own neck.  

A shiver shot through Rhett as Link's fingers scratched across his scalp, softly closing into a fistful of his hair.  Link used it to first push Rhett deeper into his kisses, then pull him far enough away to join their lips together again.  He pushed to the edge of the counter, trying to press himself as tightly to Rhett's chest as possible.  Rhett grabbed his hips to help him balance, to suspend Link between his own body and an inevitable fall from the counter.  Their hands drug roughly over each other, Link’s on Rhett’s neck, Rhett’s on Link’s sides, catching in the warmth of such proximity. They didn't mind that their skin gripped and stuck in the few places it touched.  They couldn't help it anyway. The heat was instant; Link's legs had hardly wrapped around Rhett's waist before they'd each flushed in the face, sweat threatening their freshly showered bodies the second Rhett's hand slipped from Link's waist to the fly of his jeans.  

Link tried to push himself harder against Rhett's hand, but only succeeded in sliding completely off the ledge, dropping like a rock from Rhett's arms and untangling his legs just quickly enough to prevent a complete fall.  Rhett snorted a laugh and stepped back, giving him space to right himself and grabbing the bourbon bottle.  He took a small pull before handing it to Link, who had to work to stop smiling at himself before he could drink.  

"The image of grace," Rhett teased, enjoying the spice flavoring his words.    

"I didn't want to grab your neck.  I'd hurt your back, grandpa," Link fired back, fresh wisps of warm caramel floating on his breath.  Rhett took the jab in stride and grabbed Link's wrists, placing them at the center of his own low back as he leaned into a kiss much deeper than before.  After a quick squeeze of Rhett's waist, Link's hands traveled again to the bottom of his shirt, slipping under the fabric just high enough to press the pads of his fingers into the skin beneath.  They were content with the contact just long enough for Rhett to slide his tongue against Link's; then they pulled, forcing their bodies together.  Rhett laughed through a groan and pulled back, immediately turning toward the island.  His hands worked faster than his brain, and he found himself clearing away the cutting board and knife, placing them in the sink basin behind Link's waist while Link just watched in silence, waiting for something to make sense.  The counter took only seconds to clear, and with his work done, Rhett slid up onto it, carefully lying back until his head rested at one edge and his knees bent over the other.  He flashed his eyebrows up at Link, a nonverbal _Well?_ , and though he first shook his head, Link made his way to the far end of the island.  

Link ran his hands up the lengths of Rhett's thighs as he settled in between his knees, smirking at how quickly Rhett had managed to reverse their positions.  His palms crossed Rhett's waistband and kept going until his arm was fully stretched up the length of his body, fingers curling into gentle claws as they drug back down his chest.  Link smiled at the feel of Rhett's abs tightening under the tickle of his touch before letting his fingers catch on the waistband.  His left hand joined his right in unfastening the fly, pulling the zipper down with a slowness that nearly caused Rhett to whine.  Link drug out the process expertly, ensuring that his hands grazed the warm body below as much as possible until they had no choice but to pull the denim down.  Rhett bit his bottom lip as Link tugged at the elastic of his boxer-briefs, peeling the tight garment down until it met his jeans, leaving him fully on display and blissfully vulnerable to Link's touch.

Rhett clenched his jaw as Link's hands slid up his thighs once more.  Link did not have a history of starting slow.  He had little patience for teasing and tended to go for what he wanted, regularly leaving Rhett to catch up, so when his fingers closed fully around Rhett's tip, Rhett was not surprised.  He sucked in a quick breath and let it out slowly from the back of his throat, brows knitting through the subsequent strokes until they felt less like overstimulation and more like a pursuit of pleasure.  As Link worked, occasionally licking and biting the tender skin of Rhett's inner thighs, Rhett's mouth loosened from a half-grimace to a full grin.  He bit his own bottom lip and let himself groan, earning a particularly sharp nip at his hipbone.  

"Stop lookin' so smug," Link muttered, voice muffled by the kisses he was planting across Rhett's pelvis, but loud enough to make its point.

"I can't help it," Rhett said between soft laughs.  "You're so good at—" He lost the words when a wet heat enveloped him, taking him in fully and wholly by surprise.  His chin jutted toward the ceiling as his fingers scratched at the countertop, looking for something safe to grab.  Link chuckled at the reaction, taking on a smugness of his own.  He wrapped his forefinger and thumb around the base of Rhett's length and drew them upward toward his lips, working in opposing rhythms until he could take a breath deep enough to allow him to sink as low as possible, the tip of his nose grazing closely trimmed hair as Rhett hit the back of his throat.  

"Oh, good god," Rhett sighed, giving in to the urge to grab Link's hair.  He was as careful as he could be, combing through the cool strands until they filled the spaces between his fingers before he gave them a testing pull and immediately felt a light scrape of teeth run the length of his shaft.  The speedy reaction made him laugh in both amusement and fear, and he loosened his grip.  But he was too late.  

Link pulled up and away, leaving Rhett cold and abandoned for the second that it took for him to remove his glasses and set them safely on the counter behind him.  When he turned back, his face was determined, focused on pulling off Rhett's shoes and socks as quickly as possible, tossing them toward the doorway.  Within seconds, dark jeans and black underwear were added to the pile.  Rhett was gritting his teeth at his fresh exposure to the cold surface beneath him when Link nudged his legs to part, pushing himself up onto the island and dropping a knee into the newly open space.  He straddled Rhett's right leg for a moment, sitting tall and looking down at all that Rhett had to offer.  And here, fully at Link's mercy, Rhett couldn't tear his eyes away from the contrast of the open black shirt framing Link's torso.  They allowed themselves a few quiet seconds of mutual staring, and then Link started moving again.  

He lowered his chest, leaving his hips high in a feline stretch as he slid up Rhett's body, dragging as much of himself across the bottom of Rhett's length as he could.  As he processed the variety of textures slipping over him, Rhett couldn't help but notice the ease with which Link moved.  He knew the dimensions of the small space and traveled within them fluidly, with a confidence that Rhett sensed must have come from experience.  And as Link devoured him, nibbled at his earlobe, traced a tongue along buried tendons, sank his teeth into the base of his neck, pulled at the collar of his shirt in search of more skin to taste, Rhett began to realize how much he liked that idea.  His hips rolled upward at the thought of being second to the island.  He couldn't explain it, but as Link was suddenly unzipping his own fly, he didn't care to try.

His eyes had closed, but when Rhett saw a shadow block the glow from the ceiling's can lights, he opened them again, coming face to grinning face with Link, who'd waited for his full attention to rock his pelvis down, grinding them together as they each sighed through the blissful friction.  

"Do that again," Rhett murmured, hands sliding around Link's ribs until they reached his back, where they scratched for a reaction and earned one quickly.  Link rolled against him again, using his body to make filthy, silent promises that Rhett drank in with a smile.  

Link lowered his mouth to Rhett's ear and whispered. "Take this off," he ordered, pulling at his shirt, "and don't move."  

Before he could ask, Rhett was stricken again by a feeling of exposure as Link slid off of him, dropped carefully to the floor, and left the kitchen, his stride unhurried, languid, and too appealing not to watch.  

Once he'd peeled his shirt off and tossed it toward the rest of his clothes, Rhett tried to listen for Link, but could only hear the music he'd put on filling the house, an unfamiliar mix of a male and female voices.  It didn't matter that the song covered over Link's footsteps, for Rhett knew already where he was going, what drawer he was opening, which bottle he was grabbing.  It was no surprise when he reappeared in the doorway, pausing to take in the sight of all he'd left spread on the counter as he leaned on the jamb and palmed himself thoughtlessly.  What was surprising was that he'd managed to undress from the waist down with impressive speed while away, leaving only his shirt hanging open on his frame.  It moved Rhett to swallow hard.

"How's this work with you all the way over there?" he eventually asked, rising onto his elbows to watch Link watch him.

"Where's the fire?  I have an hour to kill."

Rhett laughed and shook his head, knowing that they would never last that long.  Link sauntered to the edge of the counter again, vaulting up and settling on his knees, Rhett's legs framing him as he snapped open the small bottle in his left hand.  Rhett's stomach fluttered at the sight of the small glossy pool forming in Link's palm, still not totally sure how it would be applied.  And as he took his time in setting the bottle safely off to the side, just over Rhett's shoulder, Link didn't seem to know exactly what he wanted, either.  He eyed Rhett in private thought, chewing his own lip as he considered his options, determined where to plant his palm.

It had been only a few minutes since he'd been touched, but balancing on this precipice had Rhett starving for contact.  His pelvis shifted, rocking upward out of instinct, looking for something of substance, something for him to hold or be held by.  The dark and quiet laugh elicited by his subtle writhing forced a quiet, anxious whine from him that, once Link's palm came into full contact with his aching length, erupted into a full-bodied moan.  By the time Link was climbing over him again, fully straddling his hips, Rhett could feel himself tensing, tightening in anticipation of the move.  And when Link finally aligned their bodies and lowered himself down that first tentative inch, Rhett's breath hitched in his throat.  This was one of his favorite parts.

Link's jaw was tight, and he breathed deeply through his nose as he pretended to tease Rhett.  In reality, Rhett knew he was simply letting his own body adjust, trying to relax and surrender to the animalistic pleasure now scratching at his self-control.  It was a quick moment, but Rhett had learned to love it: with tightly closed eyes, Link took a final deep inhale, and the remaining reservations melted.  His posture slackened, his shoulders curving forward as he released his breath in a long, open-mouthed sigh.  He rode the dramatic exhalation down, until he could sink no further.  When he opened his eyes again, Rhett saw in them that the well-played game was over, and they were now on the same side.  

Link moved slowly, lifting and lowering to the beat of their audible breaths.  He dropped his hands onto Rhett's chest, letting Rhett run his own up the lengths of his arms and down his sides until they came to rest at his waist, urging him to move just a little faster.  When he did, the hands moved inward and took hold of him in reward, pumping him to his own rhythm.

They stayed like this, locked into a shared and steady pace as they each approached their limits.  Rhett's gaze roved the body above him, spending two seconds watching Link's chest rise and fall with increasingly ragged breaths before dropping to his impressively flexible legs, spread wide and bent under him as they planted into the glassy granite surface.  And as his eyes wandered, for a moment, his mind did, too, and he found himself staring at the small plastic bottle sitting near his shoulder as Link picked up his pace, riding him harder than ever.  His brain picked up strange details as it was rocked toward oblivion, noting the cursive lettering on the label before recognizing that the container was nearly empty, and quickly realizing that he'd never seen it before.  

The thoughts were without images, for he had no such interest in the other body with which Link shared himself.  They merely hit him as waves of gratitude and warmth, just barely tinted with something illicit and exciting.  As the long-sought tightness grew deep within him, he turned back to Link and gripped him harder, determined to finish this together.

Link straightened and leaned back, anchoring his hands to Rhett's thighs, putting himself on full display as his breaths grew short and shallow, his exhales turning to high, needy groans.  As Rhett felt the first ribbon of heat painted over his wrist and up his arm, the groans dropped an octave, and Link's head fell back, hips slowing as he rode his high.  

"Oh, god, Link..." Rhett muttered, so desperate to join him that he held Link's hips once more and thrust upward into him until he, too, was left without words, a strangled moan all his voice could muster as his nerves tingled with euphoria.  

They released each other, respectively, and Link slumped forward to rest on Rhett's chest.  They were slow to catch their breath, relishing the unique atmosphere while they had it.  

"That was...amazing," Rhett whispered into Link's hair.  "And not at all what I expected."

Link laughed, and it rumbled through his chest into Rhett's.  "How much time we got left?"

Rhett turned to look at the microwave in the corner and smiled.  "Forty minutes."

Link groaned, and Rhett heard all that he didn't say.

"You don't want to go."

"I made sangria," Link responded, trying to talk himself into some enthusiasm.

"How long's the house empty?"

"All night."  The answer made Rhett grin, grateful for yet another generous gift.

"We could stay in.  We could just drink it all ourselves.  See where the night takes us."

Link hummed his approval, nuzzling into Rhett's neck.  "Sold," he whispered, finally pushing himself up and dropping a light kiss on his lips before swinging his leg over Rhett's thighs and sliding off the island.  

"Be careful.  It's going to be slick," he said over his shoulder as he made off for the shower, leaving Rhett shaking his head at the obvious history behind such a warning.  As he pushed himself up, from just within earshot he heard Link call back, "Good thing you didn't really leave your car running."

**Author's Note:**

> Sangria recipes vary widely and can be altered to fit any season or occasion. Here's a version of the recipe I use in the fall:
> 
> 1/2 cup pure apple juice  
> 1 apple, sliced (any red variety)  
> 1/2 orange, sliced  
> 1 plum, sliced  
> 1/2 pear, sliced  
> 1 cinnamon stick (more for optional garnish)  
> 1 bottle any full-bodied red wine (Merlot, Malbec)  
> 1/2 cup bourbon (Blanton's, Maker's Mark)
> 
> Cut the fruit into small, bite-sized chunks (half the fun is eating it at the end of your drink). Drop the fruit into your pitcher, then pour the full bottle of wine, half cup of bourbon, and apple juice over it, stirring to combine. Let the drink chill in the refrigerator for at least three hours, but overnight is even better. Serve cold, with a cinnamon stick and/or orange curl.  
> If you're in a hurry and actually WANT to go to your party, you can always add more apple juice to take some of the edge off, though if the sangria is enjoyed too hastily, you'll lose the fun of boozy fruit. Enjoy!


End file.
